A Night at Werry House
by That'sSomeAvatarSmackTalk
Summary: Dwight lets slip that Demelza is off to Sir Hugh's party in Ross' absence, and in his fury, Ross rides over to confront her. What he finds when he gets there is not what he expected. (In which Captain MacNeil is no gentleman and Ross must defend his wife's honour wink wink)
1. Chapter 1

Quite rapidly, the thought of taking young Jeremy to the Carne household filled Mistress Poldark with a larger and larger sense of foolishness, and so it was that she turned her mind for alternatives. As abhorrent as her husbands recent behaviour was, there were still folk with less attractive ways that she could not bring herself to expose her young son to.

It would not do to drag the most precious thing left in her life into the mucky abyss that her own upbringing had always been, and just because old Tom Carne did see the light of the good Lord did not mean that he had had a total change of character. Though, as she turned her options over, she did find that she sought the comfort of her younger siblings. As hard labour as it had been to keep them fed, clothed, happy, during her time at Illugan, they had been grateful, kind and cheerful children, all her brothers. Despite what their father may have put them through, she had every faith that they would make good and caring uncles.

An uncle, unfortunately, was no father. Jeremy's father at present made Demelza's heart sink with each time he stepped into her sight, and the feeling was heavy and sour not just for the refreshed anger that came leaping up, but for the part of her that longed for reconciliation. It was as though a smaller, less furious Demelza resided within her, cursing her at every opportunity that she did not take Ross into her arms and wholly forgive him. As her respect in him had taken a blow in the wake of his infidelity – no use skirting around it, for a woman d'know when her man takes to straying – she had expected her love for Ross to wane, but instead it seemed to rear its head at every expression of regret, apology, pain, that passed over his scarred roguish features. It was then rapidly doused as she decided his regret was entirely justified.

The back and fore did make her head spin sometimes it was so violent. And it were in the midst of this mental back and forth that an invitation arrived to attend Sir Hugh Bodrugan's party and Ross all but spat at it as lord and master of all in his purview. The little Demelza within that always swore by Ross and his decisions seemed quieter than ever, as a tentative fancy to autonomy blossomed within the woman herself, fuelled by no small intention of spite.

What's good for the goose, after all, must be good for the gander.

At an impasse with future arrangements for herself and her son, it did not take much to push Demelza over the edge – another disappearing act from Ross, perhaps scuttling off to Trenwith to bed his great lady once more and convince her not to marry George Warleggan – when she found herself facing a messenger from Werry House out confirming attendees to Sir Hugh's party, and no husband to defer to.

Several times through the night she did regret her decision to accept the invite by herself. Less so in the daylight, in the ballrooms and surrounded by people, but there were brief moments where her facade of Mistress Poldark felt strained and she longed to lie in her marital bed, even alone or with her son, rather than to stay the night in the red room. As the sun set upon Cornwall, the tension grew but a smattering of familiar faces quickly eased it as with a few introductions, she floated easily into conversation with the upper class, wanting to speak of anything but her own despairs. The distraction was refreshing.

Even George Warleggan made her an introduction, though his name attached to anything or anyone did make her hackles rise even if she did not show it. She wanted to curse how Ross' dislikes had invaded her own, but simultaneously could not find any great love of the young upstart, as some called him, dwelling deep in her somewhere, and decided that she wasn't especially fond of George even by her own makings.

As Captain MacNeil arrived on the scene, her well-sought company was suddenly hoarded away by the enamoured soldier, and in another moment shocking doubt filled her senses – sometime in the sudden stillness and quiet of the garden air, removed from the crowd and seen perhaps only by god in heaven above. He did steal a kiss, and she could recall watching his every movement, comparing him – Judas! She cursed herself for comparing him instantly to Ross but how could she not? And while it was not unpleasant, the kiss was lacking in something that she hoped was not entirely singular to her husband. Her heart did hammer in her chest, but she tallied that to the flowing liquor and recent dances, and not some great love blossoming for the scot who led her back to the party.

When he requested she give him something to hope for, and then very calmly and firmly pestered an invitation to her room out of her, the doubt coursed through her again - but she promised herself a few more glasses of sherry would chase the feeling away.

"I believe Sir Hugh called it … the red room?" she replied, unsure.

She would show Ross. Per'aps cuckold him good and proper, she fancied, in her braver, more reckless moments – those where she was spun around the room on the end of a man's arm, and then flung again into another man's arms to the cheery racket of a quartet of fiddlers.

The music would stop, and her eyes would seek the doors and walls for a moment, as if she supposed Ross would come sauntering in at the last moment to reclaim her, to make a stand. But perhaps she had already given him his orders, and sent him marching for the battlefield. The thought made her still on her way to her lodgings for the night. A faint image danced behind her eyes and she leant against the banister, more than a little tipsy, picturing Ross blown away by the ball of a musket, cut down in battle and gasping in the dirt.

Salt burned in her eyes and she felt her throat grow tight, but she clambered up the stairs to her room with a sense of purpose. She was beginning to take stock of her own emotions, and as furious as she was with her husband, she did still wish he was here for her to scream at. Or her at home, for him to explain himself to. Or, wherever he was …

She made it to her room with nary a wobble, and settled her back against the shut door, taking a deep breath as if to expand her stays a little, but they did not give her any relief. She turned to secure the latch on the door, and then hesitated. Demelza was fairly certain she should expect Captain MacNeil, and it would not do for him to be waiting about outside for all to see him invited to her bed. Whatever she intended, she could not leave him to draw attention. Demelza left the latch alone and went to the bed.

She sat down, and waited, but she was not kept waiting long.

Demelza sprang to her feet as quickly as the door was swung open and shut with effortless grace, and afore she could speak, she was entangled in the arms of the tall scot in his underwhelming nightwear, wet kisses pressed to her mouth and sweet nothings tumbling out against them.

She did say his name several times to call his attention to her voice, to heed what she had to say; his name on her tongue seemed to excite him and she began to feel as though trapped in a china shop with a raging bull.

The captain had a small amount of patience for her explanation about her unfaithful husband – though he did begin to remove his clothing presumptuously, roving her beauty with his eyes as she spoke - and offered some support of her prior justifications for intending to betray Ross in revenge, but when she adjusted her tone and admitted she had lost her nerve, he did not yield and remove himself as a gentleman would.

His hands remained resolutely on her elbows at her sides, and he smiled patiently as though she were a child when she declared that she could not be so wicked, so cruel, as to bed another. Perhaps there was a moment where he would have left her be, but she did not see it or catch it.

As she waited for his response, she was not filled with confidence at the way he seemed to laugh silently, and raised a finger to stroke her cheek. "My angel, it does you credit to be so delicate," he said, so softly that she expected him to relent at last, "but think for a moment of me," he continued, an expectant lilt to his tone, as if it were a question. When she frowned a mite, he added, "... who has been looking forward to this encounter ..." his hand stroked tentatively at her shoulder and he smiled hopefully at her, eyes flashing daringly, "as a mortal's taste of heaven. Your duty now is not to your husband but to me."

As Demelza stared, her face a little blank as she tried to decipher his meaning, but clearly satisfied with his poetry, he descended upon her lips once more, this time with force, as he did not expect further hesitation from the lady.

It was at some point before this, across the fields on Nampara land, that Demelza's husband, a man beginning more and more to see the error of his ways, sat down to dine at his good friend Dr. Enys's home, to inform him of his good fortune of a loan repaid in full. Ross had reason to be confident about it, as he knew Tonkin well and knew him to be trustworthy, and it seemed that a source of financial stability was finally settling neath his wobbling family life. He had made a mess of things with Demelza and Elizabeth, but he could only hope that time, money, and distance, mayhap, would mend both bridges.

It did seem these days as though he had rashly set both proverbial bridges alight with his previous actions.

Elizabeth in a vulnerable position, clearly vying both for himself and George Warleggan to make the race that much more intense, had enticed him and numbed his senses with the paradox she became, but the moment her mystery was indulged and they were abed, post-coital, Ross felt as though a long held fantasy had somehow been destroyed. After all this time, he could see, at of course, the most inopportune time, that Elizabeth had never been meant for him.

For her low birth, and as scandalous as his marriage had seemed to all, the thought of ruining Demelza and not marrying her all those years ago – had never occurred to him. And it screamed in his mind as soon as Elizabeth lay naked beside him, to flee. This was not his territory, and he had done something wholly un-doable. To bed his cousin's widow … and now, she seemed more that than anything else. Certainly not his childhood sweetheart. She was no longer his, and he was beginning to understand that.

Still, it vexed him that George may possess her – and at Demelza's mentioning, he could see that was perhaps Elizabeth's intent; to pit him against his greatest foe, placing herself as the prize of the matter.

And though Elizabeth was not to be his, it did not seem as though his wife offered herself as an alternative. The insult of his briefly seeking another, and especially Elizabeth, a past love, was more than the girl could bear. It called into question their very marriage. He could see that, but he knew not what he could do to mend it.

Ross shook himself from these thoughts, unwilling to dwell on them as he sat with one of his best friends in the world.

Dwight made a passing comment that he had been called to Trenwith to tend on Elizabeth, and it seemed that escaping his thoughts was not in the cards for Ross. He enquired and Dwight laughed it off, chalking the Widow Poldark's fainting spell to the thought of marrying George.

"George is not deterred, of course," Dwight mused as he returned with two glasses and some brandy, "I could guess he is as tenacious a suitor as he is a businessman. He attends Sir Hugh's party tonight, no doubt to shed light on his impending family connection as soon as possible."

The smallest of groans escaped Ross and he made quickly for the first glass of brandy that his friend poured between them. "Of course. I have no stomach for Sir Hugh, who would send poor Jim Carter to the assizes simply to make his morning hunt all the quicker. Or his ilke, which I'm sure there's no shortage of at Werry House tonight."

A strange look passed over Dwight's face and his eyes snapped to Ross even as he poured the brandy into his own glass. He set the bottle down and frowned. "I did think it odd that you allowed Demelza to attend alone," he watched his friend's face go slack and sat a bit straighter. Before he could say more, Ross leant forward, his face afire.

"I did not allow Demelza to attend alone," he said tightly, even as his mind raced and his features snarled at the unintended provocation Dwight had incurred.

Dwight spoke quickly, "I passed her on the road this evening, collected by Sir Hugh's own carriage. I was surprised you accepted my invitation to dinner, in light of her attendance," he put his hands together and looked quite abashed. "I am sorry, Ross, I had no meaning to cause concern."

Ross drained his brandy and stood up from the table. At the worried look on his friend's face, he breathed a tense sigh and set about putting his gloves back on. "Demelza and I have had arguments. Fisticuffs, even," he marvelled at that last a little and gestured to his fading black eye. Dwight had been slightly aware of the trouble at home, and looked on in concern. Frustration tore across Captain Poldark's face and stretched his scar uncomfortably as he bit out, "I did not expect she would go to trot herself out as a harlot to have her revenge."

"I'm sure she cannot mean ..." Dwight negated firmly, having held Demelza in high regard for some time. "Women often attend parties alone," he also stood, meaning to help mend bridges, unknowing how badly damaged Ross' proverbial bridges were.

"Not my wife," Ross lifted his hat from the table and beat some dust out of it. "I must go to Werry House and collect her before she does herself any discredit," he clenched his jaw and released it, before exhaling, "Any more than I have already done her," at a near mutter. He collected his greatcoat and nodded politely to the good Doctor.

Dwight looked very concerned, but led his friend to the door and opened it wide for him. "I am sure things will settle, Ross. Ride safe."

"I can only hope. Thank you Dwight - for your hospitality, the dinner, and your patience with my exiting so rudely to make right my family affairs," he allowed a brief smile to pass his anxious features as he passed, and then made across the garden to mount Darkie with purpose.

No time at all seemed to pass on the ride to Sir Hugh's. He knew the way well, and could recall going to the hunts in his youth with his father, often racing there at the last minute after oversleeping. His mind seemed faster than his horse, and he wondered at Demelza's intent – stupidity? Boredom? Spite?

Yes. Spite. It was unbecoming of her, and he roared at his horse to rush onward, scaring the poor beast into a frantic gallop. He was not riding safe, certainly.

Sir Hugh alone was bad enough, though he could imagine Demelza dodging him easily, for he would be required to attend all his guests. And of course, George would be there, front row witness to any of Mistress Poldark's follies, certainly the first to inform him if he did drop a rank in society over any of it.

Suddenly he was trotting into the courtyard of Werry House, and a groom came to take his horse, even though the hour was late and the lights inside had died all but upstairs. A rushing feeling like illness stirred in Ross' stomach as he settled on the ground and made for the main entrance. He raised his arm to pound the door, but hesitated and knocked more politely. It was perhaps out of equal spite that he thought he might go quietly and catch her in the act …


	2. Chapter 2

He had little patience left but he waited for a few moments until an old maid with a lit candle came to the door.

"I apologize for calling so late, but I must retrieve my wife, Mistress Demelza Poldark," he insisted as formally as he could manage with the stakes so high. "Presently," he added, when the woman looked distrusting.

"The guests are all abed, sir, it wouldn't be fitting to allow you aloft. Please," she opened the door a fraction, "wait in the parlour while she is fetched?"

She was no barrier for him and he quickly got around her into the grand hall. "I shall be most discrete, I assure you," he tucked his fingers into his coat and plucked out a coin at random. When it came away as a sixpence, he frowned and dug again, all the while looking around for the grand staircase he knew to be in here somewhere. He took out a more suitable coin and passed it into the woman's hand, which had caught on quick and waited for the coin.

"Thank 'ee sir. Most discrete, if you please sir," the woman chided, but went away without worry – for she did certainly recognize him, he was sure.

He found the stairs and took them two at a time, unsure what he might find in the darkened manor, surrounded by sleeping socialite lions. He came to the top and looked down both sides of the hallway, slowing his breath to listen. He wished he had brought a candle, but he was used to fewer windows at home than those that enlightened this corridor, and turned to where he believed he heard sound, to the left.

Almost as quickly as he was confirmed in his suspicion, he recognized the sound as speech – in fact, recognized Demelza's cornish lilted speech instantly.

From a near whisper, it lifted to a slightly breathless sort of plea, and through one of the doors he could make out, "... Call it weakness if you will, but I cannot give myself to any man-,"

And there was another voice, one that made Ross' ears burn for it was so familiar, even as he could not make out the exact words – but he could recognize the laughter of Captain MacNeil, and rushed to one door to listen more intently, hands grasping a door frame, his eyes wide and his breath short. For MacNeil, an old comrade, to come to bed his wife … he could not ignore the disregard.

"Except my husband," Demelza was finishing, and now he could sense at a kind of fear in her tone, one that he did not like any more than the rage rising in his chest. She had gotten herself into a mess, hadn't she?

The sound was not from this door, but from behind him, and he spun to face another, down a narrow part of the corridor, and went to it, where he swore he could hear their breathing – the rustle of Demelza's dress. She began to speak again but she was interrupted.

"My angel," Captain MacNeil cooed, and it made Ross' blood boil as he wrapped his hand dangerously around the door handle. "It does you credit to be so delicate," he admired, and Ross could all but picture her sinking into the praise, perhaps rethinking her loyalties.

Worry creased his rage, and again he doubted his wife. He almost released the door handle, to leave her to it.

"But think for a moment of me," the Captain was chiding persuasively, "who has been looking forward to this encounter…" there was a pause which made Ross' stomach drop, wondering if the other man was stealing a kiss, "as a mortal's taste of heaven."

Demelza's silence was not the encouragement that MacNeil was evidently waiting for, and he greeted it with, "Your duty now is not to your husband, but to me," in as commanding a tone as it seemed his gentry would allow.

Ross didn't quite think it was enough to convince her, if she truly meant to tread backward, away from this sordid soiree. She sounded rather chagrined and like to return home on her own if she could remove herself from her sticky situation, but it did not sound as though that would be easily done. It dawned on Ross that she may change her mind at any moment, remain for the night and fall into bed with the other man. He was not proud of the thought, but he recalled her humble beginnings and wondered if she may slip into servitude and allow MacNeil to do as he pleased.

A wet noise broke into his reverie and he started a little, as a stone statue pinned against the door to his wife's room. A kiss – interrupted.

"Malcolm, please," Demelza sounded weary but breathless, as if caught in a riptide. At the least, Ross knew her well enough to know this was not her impassioned voice.

If he had been raging afore, his blood did burn now, caught between a deep concern that felt like panic and unadulterated ire at how another man's first name sounded on her tongue. A few more wet kisses Ross heard, in between his wife's meek refusals.

She'd had no qualms about beating him with the back of her hand upon his return from Trenwith some nights ago, and he could not understand why this had gone on so long without her stopping it. There was a strange voice in his head that sounded much like Prudie, willing Demelza to just _clobber him one._

The next one - "Malcolm, stop," she cried weakly, voice bouncing as she was set off her feet across the room, further away from the door - set off distinct alarm bells in Ross' mind, and he felt his hand begin to turn the knob before he was consciously aware that he now had to stop this.

He could recall Demelza trying to stop him.

 _Don't go there tonight._

Her attendance tonight was in conflict with no rule he had imposed – for he never suspected she would stray. Pray god she would believe him when he told her later, when all was forgot, that he had learnt his lesson.


	3. Chapter 3

Demelza started to protest again, and then went suspiciously silent.

"Hush, my angel," Captain MacNeil warned distantly, "else you'll wake the house. Just this once, _thy sweetness,_ " he paused awkwardly and Ross could hear only an attempt at speech from his wife, and then a quiet chuckle from his old comrade, "let yourself be seen and not heard, won't you?" it was breathlessly chortled out and swiftly followed by a startling tearing noise and a muffled shriek from Demelza.

It was this moment that Ross' senses all managed at last to fire in unison and he decidedly twisted the doorknob, swinging it open ahead of him and striding in, not entirely sure what he planned to do or say, except violently remove the interloper from his discomposed wife. When his gaze settled upon the interrupted, only one pair of eyes was able to settle on his entrance with the due shock; Captain MacNeil, yet Ross looked instantly to Demelza.

Demelza was at an odd angle beneath the other man, such that he could not see her face, for her head lay far back and hung sideways off the edge of the bed, pushed further still by the strong hand of the captain, hand pursed tightly and threateningly around her jaw, two fingers pushed into her mouth to curb her tongue. Between the two there was a stretch of the fabric of Mistress Poldark's party dress, a large section of the bodice torn away in Malcolm's hand to reveal a single pale breast in the dimly lit room.

From outside, he had suspected things were out of hand, but in but a moment the Captain MacNeil had escalated quickly – deftly, even – to trap Demelza so firmly. Ross froze in horror for a moment as the door swung shut again, his hair wild over his eyes and his face shadowed with vitriol, and a second later he was upon the other man, hands gripping the back of his shirt and hauling him backward with a shout of fury.

MacNeil swung an arm and an elbow hit Ross in the ribs, but in a swift swing he unbalanced the tipsier man and threw him headlong to the floor, winded.

"Ross!" Demelza's voice cracked as she threw herself upright, dazed but suddenly aware of her rescue. She was all askew but appeared none the worse, if a little exposed. She grasped at the remaining chunk of her bodice and yanked it upward to clutch at some dignity, but he could see her cheeks were burning brightly now that the colour was returning to her face. "I'm that glad you came," she exhaled shakily, and raised a hand to her mouth in shock.

He still had the back of MacNeil's shirt, which was unbuttoned and not long to slip off, but he regarded her with trepidation and took silent stock of the distance they had fallen from grace. His jaw tensed up, but he let it loose to ask her, "Are you alright?" as tonelessly as he could, for he knew he could not control the timbre of his voice for much longer without screaming.

She made to respond, even as she became reddened and tearful, but was interrupted by a croak from MacNeil.

"Poldark," he realized, with no small amount of horror, but he quickly wiped it away and his face slackened into distaste.

Ross' eyes flashed furiously, but then he grit his teeth in a near smile. "MacNeil," he responded icily, "What a strange thing to find here in my wife's room. Here, let me help you up."

He made to speak, but Ross yanked him up to sit by his now bedraggled linen shirt, catching him under the arms roughly before releasing his hold and taking a step back. Ross did not know if MacNeil expected it – he certainly should have, they knowing each other as they did – but as soon as he released the shirt, giving the impression of amicability, he swung back a leg and kicked his old friend as solidly as he could in the stomach. Demelza jumped where she sat on the bed.

MacNeil recoiled, only to find it unbearable to lean back against the pain, and instead rolled aside to grip his aching solar plexus.

"You are no gentleman, sir," Ross stooped to the scot, an uncontrollable vengefulness coursing through him. "Tell me, is it your custom to try your luck with a comrade's wife when you see the opportunity?" he bit out furiously, lunging forth and grabbing a good few locks of the man's red hair, tilting his head and dragging it back, making the stomach ache worse.

MacNeil gasped and ground his teeth, and looked so pitiful for a beat that the Poldark captain hazarded the idea of mercy. A moment later, he peered up at Ross and sniffed hard, grunting out sourly, "It is easy to forget the comrade when the opportunity is so readily offered," and when he spoke there was red running between his teeth, his tongue bitten to bloodiness, not that Ross needed any help to see red.

Ross snarled and reared back his fist to knock the incise man unconscious, but the house was rousing to the commotion and he could hear footsteps thumping down the hall. He hesitated to glance to the door, and a second later, a hard cranium smashed into his nose and he went reeling backward, stopping only barely upright when his back hit the bed post almost hard enough to snap it – but thankfully it held and he kept his footing, a hand climbing to grasp at the site of impact.

"Ross!" Demelza hissed fearfully, clambering on one hand to the foot of the bed near him, but her eyes danced anxiously to Captain MacNeil gaining some footing of his own and rising to full height steadily, though swaying a little and aching already.

Clearly this was unacceptable to her husband, and with renewed rage, the Captain Poldark charged low as the scythe sweeps the barley and thrust his shoulder against his ex comrade's barrel, meaning to take him once again off his feet and return him to a rightful lower position, whereby Ross was sure he intended to beat upon the man until he could beat no more. He failed in his mission, blood dripping off his chin, and Malcolm retained his footing by grasping upon the dresser, his elbow knocking candles and a carafe of port onto the floor, shattering.

The disturbance was more than their hosts could bear, and the door swung open again upon the image of Captain MacNeil gripping desperately at the dresser as Ross managed to get in one, then two, then three good punches to the interloper's head and neck – some did not land where intended, and quickly Ross corrected his error by grabbing hold of the fabric of MacNeil's nightshirt and aiming instead for his bruised gut again.

"I say! What the devil is going on in here!" it was Sir Hugh, and with a moment more to think on it, Ross might have been further angered by the intrusion. As it was, he had his hands full. At the least, Sir Hugh was of no stature to separate the two brawlers at his age, and all he could do was gawp and shout in distress as more of his home was mislaid when Ross swung his foot toward MacNeil's, only to snap the leg off the dresser instead of tripping his foe.

"Ross, come away!" Demelza yelped, still perched on the bed but gathering a pillow to clutch to her chest for discretion as Sir Hugh did glance her way and see more than he ought. Oh, the scandal would be fretful and unending, she thought.

"Comport yourselves! I implore you to cease!" Sir Hugh yelled as loudly as he could, but it did not carry much weight except to alert more attention, Demelza guessed.

The dresser fell over, driving the two men away from it, staggering amongst themselves, grabbing and jabbing. Demelza could see spatters of blood in the air between them, being spat by both parties, but could not tell which side struggled more until they crashed into side of the vanity and the mirror, slotted into it, wobbled precariously and the light of the fire flickered in its reflection.

"Fire!" Sir Hugh cried out, ignored by the two men grappling.

Judas, the candle that had fallen had set the curtain alight, and the flames took hold quickly, razing upward toward the ceiling. Just as the lighting in the room changed under the bright blaze, the door swung open again and two servants rushed in to take stock of the situation.

"Put out that fire! No!" Sir Hugh recanted as soon as he'd spoken, then threw an arm and pointed at the two captains, just as the mirror finally snapped off its manhandled housing and tumbled forward, shattering upon their feet. "Gah! Stop them! Stop this! Purport to be gentlemen, will you! This is most unseemly!" he was furious, but it was still the lesser fury in the room.

 **A.N.: 2 or 3 more chapters to go, just wanted you guys to know how long a story it'll be. Wanted to mash the MacNeil and the Adderley situations together and see an angery Ross being all violent and protective because why the fuck not ;) glad you guys are enjoying it, it makes me so sad the Poldark Fanfic community is so small :'( i wanna read more stories of elizabeth marrying ross when he gets back from the war and** ** _then_** **him meeting Demelza... *le sigh* i have a day off tomorrow so if i get more than 3 reviews on this i'll post the next one ASAP. I hate to hold chapters ransom but reviews do stoke my creative fire ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

At last, Ross shoved the other man away to the footman, who caught the careening Captain MacNeil with little grace and a slight groan. The servant held fast to him, but he easily struggled loose to turn to Ross across the room, the light of the fire casting an orange glow on his face as it burned behind Ross, casting him in imposing shadow, both men heaving from effort, bloodied and riled.

"There, now keep your distance from one another!" Sir Hugh warned, stepping closer as to block their paths. He looked over his shoulder to the huffing Captain MacNeil, then turned his eyes upon the new entrant to his house and steeled a grim look at him. "How very kind of you to grace us with your presence, Captain Poldark. You may forgive some of us for not expecting you tonight," he said it with a kind of judgement in his clipped, terse tone, and Demelza for once did wonder at the hidden intelligence in the gentleman.

The fire was still burning, but it was clear that Sir Bodrugan could tell which was the greater threat to his property, and he looked upon it with undivided attention – regarding Ross warily.

Ross took a long step closer to MacNeil, who still stared at him, but found Sir Hugh in his way and paused. "Not those who would take advantage of it," Ross replied menacingly, almost going to spit blood on the floor, then looked at the host and slowly raised his sleeve to wipe at his bloodied nose instead.

Behind them, the other footman came in with a pail of water and doused awkwardly at the burning curtain, which had smouldered to the metal curtain rod and fell to the floor as soon as the weight of the water bared upon it. He doused more water upon the fallen fabric and the room fell eerily dark.

"Yes, well ..." Bodrugan breathed into the tense silence, trying to regain Poldark's attention, "I appear to have failed as host at the last hurdle, but with any gathering there is a mess to clean up afterwards," he laid the displeasure on heavy, hoping to distract Ross' fury with guilt. "I believe it is best if Captain MacNeil is reunited with his horse, Oliver," he called an order to the footman standing beside MacNeil, and he placed a hand on the soldier's shoulder, which was resentfully shrugged away.

"Yes, sir," the man, presumably Oliver, sounded uncertain.

"I will remove myself, sir," MacNeil ground out, one eye half shut, covered in red and an arm clutched to his stomach, his face twisted in both pain and humiliation.

Ross eased for a moment, as Sir Hugh came to his side a little more to look upon the other man, who paused.

As if it had dawned on him in the moment out of spite, Malcolm allowed a painful wheeze of a laugh and put on a perplexed look, glancing tentatively at Demelza on the bed, still clutching a pillow to herself to hide herself. The glance alone made Demelza cower and Ross start, but Sir Hugh placed a hand on Ross' arm just in time to stop him.

"But if you'll indulge me, Captain Poldark," he rasped, and his voice did not carry quite as it needed to in the room, "and inform me if there are any other ladies I must steer clear of to avoid this conflict again. For your wife did tell me there is another," it was full of malice and challenge.

Sir Hugh seemed the first to startle, and without meaning to, shot his eyes to Ross for confirmation. At the grim look that passed over the Poldark's face, the owner of Werry House, quite without realizing he was going to, swatted the younger man's elbow and breathed, "Good god man, are you mad?"

Ross was not paying attention, still huffing a little for breath, instead turning his eyes toward Demelza, looking pitiful and somehow beautiful in her fearful, vulnerable spot kneeling on the bed, her skirts covering her legs and the pillow covering her torn bodice, but part of her sleeve torn and hanging away to reveal her shoulder, touched gently by errant strands of her auburn locks. She looked mightily guilty for sharing Ross' infidelity with her other suitor, but Ross was wholly distracted by a sudden urge to remove her from all of this, though it did not deter his primary motive.

He took off his greatcoat slowly and Sir Hugh started a little, wondering if Ross meant to come to fisticuffs again. After enough hesitation to make everyone else present quite nervous, he spoke in a deliberate rasp that did not match his unkempt, bloody visage.

"I should like to tell you that you may have your pick of them all, so long as I do not find you sniffing around Demelza again. But I regret that I cannot," he said, sounding far away as he hung the coat by its shoulders before him and slowly moved toward the bed, not taking his eyes off MacNeil, who seemed to smirk at this.

"Ross," Demelza murmured, perhaps hurt by the implication, but she could bear a little insult tonight too, just as he had. As she said it, he laid the coat about her shoulders and pulled it closed around her, only meeting her harrowed eyes briefly, for they filled him with a strange feeling that he would have to sort through later.

"I cannot allow you to go about with what you have done here tonight," Ross said it decisively, but the anger seemed faded. Somehow this stillness in him was more disconcerting than his exposed rage. He turned back toward MacNeil and drew a breath that was heavy with the weight of consequences.

MacNeil stood a little straighter, as if he recognized a shift in Ross' intentions.

"I demand satisfaction," Ross announced calmly.

It was Demelza who reacted first, protesting, followed by Sir Hugh's instant panic, though they went mostly ignored for the fact that MacNeil instantly smirked and replied, "I accept. Of course, Captain Poldark, surely you know that duelling is against the law," in a chiding grimace.

"Then the law is welcome to come after me," Ross challenged.

"Ross, no!" Demelza leant up a little, releasing her pillow now with one hand clutching the coat shut as she grasped for Ross's hand, the blood on them running onto her own fingers. "Look at yourselves, the state of you! The shame is enough from where we stand now - are 'ee not satisfied enough?" she pressed urgently, her desperation spurring her common speech, surprised when he did not take his hand away from her.

"Your wife is wise, Captain Poldark. There is no reason we shouldn't all make it out of this night alive, would you not agree?" Sir Hugh burbled out, pale and agitated now that things were escalating. With clear concern for his property, he added on, "surely we can settle this dispute away from here?"

"Outside," Captain MacNeil said gruffly, the word strange and strangled by his accent.

"Tomorrow!" Sir Hugh interjected helplessly.

"Tonight," Ross snapped, his patience thinning. "Demelza, stay here." He didn't look to her.

"Nay, Ross," she gasped, beginning to sound choked as she realized how serious both men were. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she clutched her husband's sleeve. "Please," she cried, "tis a mistake. I were jealous afore, but death is a mistress who will take you proper Ross – don't leave me like this." She released a tiny sob however, when he slowly pulled his arm away from her.

"I will be back," Ross said hollowly, unable to ascertain any promise to his words.

"Or I will, my sweet," MacNeil chortled, eager at the chance to soothe his humiliation and emboldened by the challenge of the apt shooter he knew Ross Poldark to be. "Twould be a shame to waste the spoils of battle."

Demelza shrank a little, horrified at the suggestion, for a moment forgetting Ross' gentle hands unclasping each of her fingers from his shirt. He felt his breath coming in furious huffs as he turned back to MacNeil. Sir Hugh even balked and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"What an impertinent deviant," Sir Hugh remarked, scandalized.

"I must trouble you for the use of pistols, Sir Hugh," Ross was barely containing the volume of his voice, aware of Bodrugan and now three servants who had come in during the back and forth. Gossip would surely spread, but he had only a singular goal in mind. If he were to die proving to Demelza, to all of high society, what his most valued possession was, he wildly thought it would be a fitting end so close to his recent misstep.

Sir Hugh froze a little when Ross looked at him, and then a wan look of relent took him over. "Dear god in heaven," he said quietly to himself. "Yes, I can see that you must," he allowed, then stood a little more formally and gestured to the door. "Gentlemen, if you will come with me."

Demelza protested quietly, as though she knew it fell on deaf ears as the three men and removed themselves in terse silence – Ross the last one out, refusing to meet her eyes as he shut the door firmly. He wondered if she would lock the door once it was shut, in case the worst happened and MacNeil made good on his taunt, or if she had total faith that her husband was the man returning to her.

If she did, she had more faith than he did. Ross had seen MacNeil blow off three men's heads in the war, and was not uncertain that he couldn't do it again tonight.


End file.
